


Whispers

by Nicxan



Category: Netherworld Haunted House
Genre: Gen, Talking to Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 14:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21339421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicxan/pseuds/Nicxan
Summary: [Based on year 2019, Night of the Gorgon.]The Mask of Medusa was a dangerous tool. Margaret could hear why.





	Whispers

**Author's Note:**

> Listen I KNOW the lore on the site says she doesn't KNOW about Eliza's madness when she wears the mask  
But I just love the idea that she DOES know and the stakes are too high to NOT keep using the mask anyway  
.....
> 
> So here that is 8D;

Margaret heard things sometimes when she wore the Mask of Medusa.  
  
At first, they were easy to ignore. It was just a figment of her imagination. She only heard them when stressed, so clearly, it was just her stress getting to her. Margaret would always write off the soft whispers that came to her when she wore the mask - it was so easy.  
  
Then, they got louder.  
  
Margaret could hear what the woman -- was it a woman? -- was saying now. ‘_We must be freed,_’ she whispered over and over. ‘_We need to get her out so we can get out._’ She grit her teeth and forced herself to block all of it out. She had more important things to worry about: fighting off Varla’s loyalists, crushing the few remaining Awakened with the Gorgonoids’ fists of stone, and striking the Dark Circle where it hurts. She couldn’t let some odd sounds distract her.  
  
The more she ignored it, the louder they got. The more _ insistent _ they got. And despite Margaret’s best efforts, she couldn’t block it out forever. Especially not when some of the things this spirit whispered pointed to her being Eliza Whyshman. Margaret had studied all of the legends fervently - she knew about everything.  
  
She also knew about how dangerous Eliza’s spirit guide had been, and how the Gorgon must have warped her mind. While she couldn’t have imagined the extent of it before, she could hear it now. It made Margaret’s skin crawl. What had Euryale done to her? How far gone was Eliza - was any of her old self even there now?  
  
It didn’t seem so.  
  
Despite this, Margaret tried to listen and empathize with her ancestor. She went into the hall of mirrors -- a place where no one ever wished to go, aside from her -- and simply stood and listened to Eliza. Sometimes, it seemed insightful. Every bit of information would help against her struggle against the dark forces at hand, even if she had to dabble in that darkness herself.  
  
Other times, like tonight, it felt like she was on the edge of a very, very tall cliff; like she would fall off if she wasn’t very careful. But it was a risk she was willing to take. She had taken some hits tonight - the Dark Circle had attacked swiftly, leaving her reeling and with more wounded people than she had anticipated. Some of her Gorgonoids had been obliterated.  
  
She needed an upper hand for next time. And if that meant standing alone in a dark room, surrounded by her reflections, with only ethereal whispers as music, to listen to her ancestor’s ramblings? Just for a possible chance of anything that could actually help? Margaret would do it without question.  
  
She would stand there for as long as it took. Margaret would stare into one mirror, focusing on herself, the whispers, Eliza’s voice -- and just let herself go.  
  
‘_I need this curse undone,_’ came the first desperate request. ‘_Ezra and I need to be freed. And there’s only one way to do that. You can help us. If you help us, we could possibly help you._’  
  
Did she want to help, though? Or was this just a trick, a means to an end? Margaret didn’t respond. She only listened closer, losing awareness of her surroundings as she did so. All that mattered right now were the hints she could possibly get.  
  
‘_We need to fulfill a promise,_’ Eliza continued. ‘_A promise, Margaret. A promise. If we do that, we will be ourselves again._’  
  
Yes. A promise.  
  
“I have to free her,” she murmured without truly realizing what she was saying. Margaret swayed in place, staring at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t see how her eyes had glazed over in her trance, nor how her movements seemed just a bit off. Only one thing seemed important: “I have to dig her out.”  
  
The implications hit her like a strike of lightning. Margaret snapped out of her trance, jolted into awareness. No, none of that was right. Euryale couldn’t be freed. It would be disastrous! Margaret grit her teeth and stumbled back, carelessly stumbling into another mirror behind her. The lantern swung violently, crashing into that mirror and shattering the corner of it.  
  
The resulting sound made her drop the lantern. Margaret covered her ears, shaking her head like it would drive out every unwanted presence around her, circling her, badgering her --  
  
The whispers only grew in intensity instead. The voice of Eliza furiously repeated those mantras that Margaret had gotten to know so well: ‘_Revive me. Free me. Free my husband. Free Euryale to --_’

“Get out of my head!” Margaret shrieked as she threw the Mask of Medusa across the room. It bounced off one of the many mirrors surrounding her, clattering onto the ground unceremoniously. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, shaking while staring at that damned mask, but it was too long.  
  
Far, far too long.  
  
It was a hopeless fight anyway. She needed to keep using it - how else would she turn the Dark Circle’s own gargoyles and other monsters against them without being turned to stone herself? How else could she defend the Brotherhood and the innocent people in Whyshburg? Margaret’s hands trembled as she picked up the Mask of Medusa again, just to stare at it.  
  
The dark energies emanating from it tarnished what would be a truly beautiful work of art. And it wasn’t just its incredible power - it was the spirit that had attached to it, as well. That’s what made this artifact truly dangerous.  
  
“You’re not going to win this,” Margaret whispered to the mask. She gripped the mask so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. “I’ll handle things _ myself_. You lost yourself, Eliza. And I won’t let you dictate _ my _ path.”  
  
Margaret exhaled slowly as she put it back on. The effect was instantaneous - the whispers were back, tenfold, with a ferocious bite that she wouldn’t have been able to fathom. They were more like roars, trying to overwhelm her and burrow deep into her very soul. Apparently, Eliza hadn’t liked what she said.  
  
“I don’t care what you think,” Margaret replied sternly. She picked up the lantern -- she’d have to relight it -- and rushed out of the maze of mirrors.  
  
She had a town to protect. And they were so, so close to their goal. She couldn’t stop now.  
  
She couldn’t ever stop.


End file.
